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My heart began to race, it had been three long months since I had seen him.“Hey sweetie, what are you up to?” he asked.“Just trying to understand this bullshit,” I replied as I put my book in my bag.“Well I’m going to grab some lunch at the Student Center, wanna join me?”“I would love to, you're buying right?” I asked with a giggle.“Yes, of course.” He picked up my bag and threw it over his shoulder.As we started to walk to the other side of the campus, he held my hand. It felt so good to be with him again. Dallas and I had a love-hate relationship. I loved him, and he knew it. He loved me, but never admitted it. We also had a hatred for each others flaws, which was our demise. He couldn’t except my need to be loved, and I could not except anything but a full time relationship.We walked through the doors of the Student Center at 12 o’clock. There were lines everywhere, and nowhere to sit. We decided that we would go hang out for a bit, then come back. We walked around the grove for a. Strangely, I felt awfully comfortable in this situation, for it was what I had been wanting ever since I had heard the first hallway stories about the man in front of me. "You can draw me now," I whispered. And that he did. He started to create the contours of my body. He worked fast, but precise. For twenty minutes I stood there, following the movement of his arm with my eyes. After those twenty minutes, Mr. Monet threw away his paintbrush. He looked at me, twitching his head as a way of summoning me. I walked towards him, around the easel, and looked at his work. It was the most impressive painting. It seemed to consist of only one smooth line, as if he had never taken the brush off of the canvas. It was unmistakingly me, the girl in the painting. It was my body, my face, my hair. Mr. Monet had painted me. As I was staring at the canvas, I felt him touching me. He threw his arms around me and pressed his body against mine. He held my hips and lowered his face into my neck. I could.
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